


Don't Say Boyfriend

by nihilisticboyfriend



Category: South Park
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, One Shot, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisticboyfriend/pseuds/nihilisticboyfriend
Summary: Everyone else makes assumptions and fills in details and Craig just shrugs and nods and agrees with everything. Sure, yeah, they kiss. They go on dates. They’ve done that lots of times. Why not. It’s easier to agree and watch the subject drop than endure relentless teasing by trying to deny anything.But he’s never really referred to it directly. Not by this term. By speaking it out loud, he feels like he’s crossed some sort of line. He’s not sure what line it was, but it something about it makes his cheeks and ears get warm.





	Don't Say Boyfriend

 

“Do you think anyone even still cares?”

“About what?”

“About us.”

They’re in Craig’s bedroom. Tweek is sitting with his knees to his chest on the floor atop a generous pile of blankets which will be serving as his bed for the night. Craig’s family has an inflatable mattress, but it has a steady leak that reliably leaves their guests on the floor by morning. Craig and his sister had punctured it a few years back while roughhousing and patched it up with duct tape. Even though it’s a weak excuse for a bed Craig thought it was better than nothing, but Tweek refused it. “If I’ll end up on the floor, I may as well start on the floor,” was his reasoning.

So Craig piled up as many soft, fluffy blankets as he could find and fell back on it to test the stack. He said he could still feel floor against his back, but Tweek assured him it would be fine. Tweek always says he doesn’t mind these inconveniences, as if he’s making a real effort to be easygoing. As if being accommodating on the bedding issue would make up for the fact he picked out every mushroom from the casserole Craig’s mom made for dinner (he says the texture freaks him out). As if sleeping on a pile of blankets will let them forget about his perpetually shaking hands, the fumbled silverware, the lack of competent small talk at the table. Craig figures it’s fine and doesn’t want to say anything more.

Tweek spends a lot of time at Craig’s house but doesn’t spend the night very often. He’s obviously on edge, tucked into a ball and staring unblinkingly across the room at Craig’s closet door.

“About ‘us’? You mean ‘us’ as a couple? Or ‘us’ as two separate people. Because honestly, I’m not sure anyone has ever cared about ‘us’ if we’re talking about ‘us’ as two people.”

“Then obviously I mean ‘us’ like as a couple.” Craig is laying on his bed, feet dangling off the edge, tossing a baseball to himself. Something has really been starting to bother him. “Like I mean. Have you ever tried to talk to anyone about it? About it not being a real thing? I’m wondering if anyone would believe it’s an act at this point— after like 2 fucking years of pretending.” Craig pauses to examine the stitches in the baseball. “Like what about your therapist? Have you ever tried to tell her?”

Tweek had started seeing a therapist in middle school. At first he went once a week, but soon he got another therapist and now he has appointments twice a week. Craig assumes it’s just like any other after school activity. Like the baseball team or the school newspaper. Tweek’s after school club just has two members and the activity is talking about his problems. The days Tweek has therapy are the only days Craig walks home by himself.

Tweek hums against his knee. “I talk to my therapist about you, I mean, yeah. I’m supposed to, man. I have to talk to her about everything.”

Craig rolls over on his stomach to get a look at Tweek. “About ‘us’ being fake, though?”

Tweek shoots a wide-eyed look at Craig. “Dude! What I talk to my therapist about is confidential!!”

Craig rolls his eyes, “For her, yeah. She’s not supposed to tell anyone the shit you tell her. But you’re not under oath for your own goddamn problems; you can talk about whatever you want with anyone you want.” He rolls back onto his back and gives the ball another toss. “If you want.”

“Oh.” Tweek sighs. He’s silent for a bit. There’s no sound in the room aside from the rhythmic slap of the baseball against Craig’s hands.

“My therapist. Thinks you’re good for me.”

Craig gives a short laugh. “What, even she ships it?”

“Well no, more like,” Tweek breathes out and holds his hands up as if he’s trying to hold something. “She thinks it’s good you’re around because it’s good for me to have someone who helps me calm down and talks to me and shit like that.”

“So I’m a good boyfriend, huh.”

Craig catches his ball and lets it rest in his palm. His heart plunges into his stomach as his bedroom plunges back into silence.

He suddenly realizes: this is the first time he’s ever explicitly referred to himself as Tweek’s boyfriend. It feels like the first time he’s even said the word in his entire life. And it just came out so casually.

When they began their ‘relationship’ two years ago, Tweek insisted right away they keep the public displays of romance to a bare minimum (Craig was more than willing to agree and added he’d be just fine with keeping any romance flat out nonexistent). So they kept it minimum; for two years, they’ve been holding hands like permanent field trip buddies. Walking home from school together. Eating lunch together. Basically spending every possible moment together or else someone asks him “Where’s Tweek?” as if they are no longer allowed to appear anywhere alone. Bare minimum.

Everyone else makes assumptions and fills in details and Craig just shrugs and nods and agrees with everything. _Sure, yeah, they kiss. They go on dates. They’ve done that lots of times. Why not._ It’s easier to agree and watch the subject drop than endure relentless teasing by trying to deny anything.

But he’s never really referred to it directly. Not by this term. By speaking it out loud, he feels like he’s crossed some sort of line. He’s not sure what line it was, but it something about it makes his cheeks and ears get warm.

Boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ What a dumb fucking word.

Tweek finally breaks the silence, shakes his head emphatically, “No, dude, you’re a douchebag,” and Craig throws a pillow at him.

 

* * *

 

Craig’s dad insists they leave the door open, as is pretty much parental protocol for any young couple, but once the lights go out Craig kicks it closed. 

It’s silent for a long time. Craig lays on his back in his bed and stares at the dim outline of the ceiling. Something’s still bothering him. He shifts silently and looks over the edge of his bed at Tweek, encased in a bundle of blankets on the floor. His body is unmoving but there’s no chance he’s asleep. No fucking chance. He basically only sleeps three hours a night.

Craig tosses his blankets aside and slips from his bed to the floor. He’s way too restless to fall asleep.

Tweek lifts his head immediately, startled; the whites of his eyes are visible even in darkness.

Craig clears his throat quietly and whispers, “Hey. You know. What I said earlier.”

Tweek rests his head on his pillow and whispers back. “What?”

“Just. The boyfriend thing.” He winces. Even now the word feels gross and unsettling.

Tweek pushes the blankets away from his face which gives Craig a better view of the outline of his features, though it’s still a bit dim and blurry. “Dude, it’s weird, right?”

Craig snorts. “Super weird. I’m glad it’s not just me. But we’ve had our whole ‘thing’ going on forever so—it shouldn’t be weird, right? We should be used to it.”

“I think. I think it’s just weird when you say it.”

“Me personally? Like just when I say it?”

Tweek frees his hands from the sheets to tug at his hair with trembling fingers. “No, because it’d be weird if I said it too! Like, we only ever hear other people say it when they refer to us so if we used it to refer to each other— it feels. Weird.”

Craig considers this. “You’re probably right. I’ve never said it. Even though literally everyone else calls you my… my boyfriend.” Craig wrinkles his nose and looks at the ceiling. “I don’t think I like it.”

Tweek shifts under his blankets but doesn’t seem like he’ll say anything more.

Craig begins to feel a chill on his bare arms now that he’s been apart from his own bed for so long. He tugs at the corner of Tweek’s heap of bedding and Tweek pulls back the blankets without hesitation to let Craig inside.

The two scoot next to each other until there is a sliver of space between their shoulders. The comforters settle on top of them and after a few minutes, Craig feels for Tweek’s hand.

It’s just a familiar gesture, more out of habit than anything; Craig could find Tweek’s hand in a snowstorm. Craig places his cupped hand loosely over Tweek’s and finds it cold despite the comical abundance of blankets. But Tweek’s fingers are always freezing. And they usually get clammy after extended contact. It’s a discomfort Craig has learned to live with.

“That’s pretty good, though, Tweek,” Craig continues, reluctant to let the conversation end just yet. “You probably sounded like a therapist just now.”

Tweek grimaces. “Probably because i’m around them so much.”

“You really are.” Then Craig very nonchalantly and very smoothly transitions into a topic that greatly interests him: “So. What have you told your therapist about me?”

Tweek balls his hand under Craig’s palm. “That’s. That’s weird to tell you? Isn’t it? Like I _only_ talk to my therapist about that kind of stuff.” He relaxes his hand and turns it palm up under Craig’s. “I dunno, man. It’s too weird.”

“It’s not that weird. If it’ll help, you can pretend I’m your therapist. Just talk to me like I’m your therapist.”

“Dude, you’re nothing like my therapist.”

Craig tilts his head against Tweek’s pillow and rolls his eyes. “We can pretend, right?”

Tweek shakes his head, “No, dude! You’ve never even been to a therapist. You don’t know how to act like one; it wouldn’t be convincing.” Tweek turns his hand back so it’s palm down against the floor. Craig can feel Tweek’s dry and cracked knuckles. “How about I pretend to be _your_ therapist.”

“Why.”

Tweek tilts his chin back. “So, Craig, how do you feel about your best friend Tweek,” he asks, his tone is uncharacteristically low and calm.

Craig holds back a laugh, incredulous. “Is that what a therapist sounds like.”

“Yes it is, I am an expert.” He sounds like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal.

Craig pulls his hand from Tweek's so he can fold his arms thoughtfully. “Well first of all I wouldn’t call him my _best_ friend. I have a lot of friends.”

Tweek drops his therapist act. “Really? Name one other person you’d call your best friend.”

“Well, Clyde, probably.”

Tweek snorts and bursts out laughing. Craig shushes him and shoves at his shoulders. “What the fuck, dude? Don’t laugh at your patient. Be professional.”

Tweek clears his throat and brings himself back down to a whisper. “Okay, okay. I’m done. I’m professional. But Clyde? Seriously?” Craig can hear Tweek smiling.

“Or Token. Or Jimmy. I have plenty of best friends.”

Tweek puts his therapist voice back on. “Then… who is Tweek to you?”

Craig takes a moment to consider then shifts uncomfortably and pulls a blanket up past his nose. He feels suddenly embarrassed. “Isn’t my time up for this session or something.”

“Dude it’s been like less than a minute.”

“I can’t afford more than a minute of therapy at a time.”

Tweek breaks character and tugs the blanket. “It’s hard right? I have to do this like twice a week.”

“You’re a pro, Tweek. I’m soooo impressed.”

“Okay, okay, I’m not your therapist any more.”

It’s silent for a while. Craig closes his eyes and remembers how late it is and how much he loves to be asleep.

Tweek whispers an interruption. “Is Clyde really your best friend?”

Craig scoffs weakly, “God, no.”

“Okay.”

He yawns. “You are. And you’re not. Not really, I mean. You’re like better to me than a best friend.”

Craig can feel himself drifting off and he considers moving back up to his bed. The blankets are making his face warm and his shoulder is pressed hard against the floor but he also feels too sluggish to move. He’s wondering if the air mattress would be any improvement when he feels something tickle against his nose and realizes Tweek has wordlessly bridged the gap between them. He freezes as he feels Tweek’s temple come in contact with his cheek.

Tweek’s hair always looks abysmal. It stands up, clumps together, and sticks to his neck. He gets it cut maybe twice a year and yanks it out by the handful.

And it is surprisingly, disappointingly, softer than it looks.

Craig begrudgingly accepts his boyfriend’s skull as a pillow and relaxes against it. He becomes embarrassingly aware of how good Tweek smells. Even though he took a shower in Craig’s bathroom just that evening, he refused to use any soap or shampoo due to unknown chemicals. Yet he smells fresh, like damp soil. Or like water from a garden hose.

“Dude? Are you sniffing me?” Tweek’s voice is barely a whisper.

Craig feels his ears get hotter. “I’m just breathing.”

Tweek laughs against his palm. “It’s. It’s fine, dude.”

Craig feels like he did when he said “boyfriend” for the first time in his life just a few hours ago. Like he crossed into unfamiliar territory and he can’t turn back anymore. All he can do is push forward. And though he isn’t certain he knows what he’s doing, he’s comforted by Tweek’s feather-light fingertips against his bare arm, so he doesn’t hesitate when he bows his head and presses his lips against Tweek’s hairline.

Tweek shivers and for a moment Craig wonders if he did the wrong thing until he feels a kiss against his jaw. Tweek’s mouth is warm against his skin and Craig wonders suddenly and for the first time in his life what it would feel like to kiss Tweek Tweak on the mouth. Not that he expects it to be particularly good, but he’d like to know anyway. It’s dumb, but it makes his face feel hot. It would probably just taste like medicinal chapstick.

Craig runs his tongue along his front teeth and whispers, “There’s got to be a better word for you than ‘boyfriend’ though.”

Tweek tilts his face toward Craig and for one terrifying second Craig thinks he’s leaning in for a kiss. But instead he just says, “I think I’ll be okay with saying boyfriend.”

“I’m fine if _you_ call me your boyfriend, but _I_ want to call you something else.”

“Don’t be such a pussy. There’s nothing wrong with calling me your boyfriend.”

Craig hisses, a tone of betrayal. “Then you can’t be my best friend anymore.”

“That’s fine. Good news for Clyde,” Tweek murmurs, pushing his face into the crook of Craig’s neck.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with the platonic love of my life, my muse, my super best friend, tumblr user homobag.


End file.
